For Better or For Worse
by Susan M. M
Summary: Mrs. Standish AU, Chapter 6. While assisting Mr. Larabee in one of his little errands, Ezra runs into a spot of trouble. Luckily, his devoted but unwanted bride is there to nurse him back to health. Ezra/Mary Sue, hurt/comfort
1. Chapter 1

**For Better or for Worse (**Mrs. Standish AU, chapter 6**)**

**Standard fanfic disclaimer** that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters, I'm just borrowing them for, um, typing practice. That's it, typing practice. I'll return them to their actual owners (relatively) undamaged. This is an amateur work of fiction; no profit beyond pleasure was derived from the writing. Originally published in Let's Ride #10 from Neon RainBow Press. This is the sixth story in an AU series, and unlike most of my stories, it's not PWP. It's hurt/comfort.

**For Better or for Worse**

Susan Macdonald

_Magnificent Seven_

Chapter 6 of the Mrs. Standish AU

_Four Corners, Arizona Territory, July 1878_

Ezra Standish had always believed that adage about the early bird and the worm referred to the worm's just punishment, not praise for the bird. Therefore, he seldom ate breakfast with his wife. He didn't notice that she went from her usually hearty morning repast to just dry bread.

* * *

Chris Larabee sat inside the Queen of Diamonds Saloon, a cup of coffee in one hand, the _Clarion_ in the other. He looked up from the newspaper when he heard a horse racing down the main street of town.

JD rode through town, far faster than was safe on a busy street. He threw himself from his horse and dashed into the saloon. "Chris! Chris, Vin said – " The young sheriff panted, unable to speak.

"Catch your breath, boy. What is it?" Larabee asked.

Ezra looked up from his game of solitaire, all ears.

"Vin found those rustlers. Found their trail, anyway. He sent me back for help. Too many of 'em to get by his lonesome," JD reported.

Larabee thought a minute. Nathan had been busy yesterday, trying to poultice a gunshot wound on one of Armstrong's ranch hands that had become infected. Josiah had ridden patrol last night. They both deserved a break. "Take your horse to the livery stable. Have him tended to, and borrow a fresh one. Then go find Buck. You can lead us back to where you left Vin."

JD nodded, and turned to go.

Larabee drained his coffee, folded up his newspaper, and turned to Ezra. "Let's ride."

* * *

Marina sighed when she heard a knock on the door. It was so seldom she had a chance to sit down and read _Godey's Lady's Magazine. _ "Howdy, Miz Standish," Obadiah Jackson greeted her when she opened the door.

"Hello." The redhead was never sure how to address Nathan's father. She didn't feel comfortable addressing a man thirty years her senior by his first name, and as an ex-slave, he wasn't used to having a white lady call him 'Mr. Jackson.' In the south, the problem would have been solved by calling him 'Uncle Obadiah,' but Marina was Illinois-born and Arizona-raised: the title didn't come easily to her lips.

"Got a message. Mr. Larabee had to ride out after some desperadoes, and your mister, he likely won't be home for dinner. Didn't want you to worry."

Marina suspected that it was Chris Larabee who'd been considerate enough to let her know that her husband would be out late, rather than Ezra himself. "Thank you for letting me know. Is your Nathan going with them?"

"No, he's staying here in town. Got a patient to tend," Obadiah said proudly. "Brother Sanchez, he's in charge till they get back."

"In that case, would you and Nathan care to join me for dinner?" she invited. "There's far too much for me to eat by myself."

Obadiah shook his head. "Wouldn't be proper."

"If Nathan and I had dinner alone, certainly not. But with you there to chaperon us, no one could complain of impropriety."

Obadiah's brown eyes twinkled.

"Hasn't anyone every told you the definition of forever?" When he didn't reply, Marina continued: "Two people and a ham. You wouldn't leave me all by myself with a ham, would you?"

"It's right kind of you to invite us, ma'am. If Nathan don't need to stay with his patient, we'd be pleased to come," Obadiah assured her.

* * *

Vin Tanner brushed his long brown hair away from his pale blue eyes. He stood and nodded when his friends approached. "Glad you're here."

"Thanks for waiting for us," Larabee said.

"Hell, Chris, I ain't stupid enough t' try t' go after six men by m'self."

Larabee looked at JD. The Boston-born sheriff was barely twenty, and he was pretty much done in after riding back to fetch them, and then guiding them to join Vin. "You up to this, JD? Might be better if you rode back to town to help Nathan and Josiah keep an eye on things."

Observing the younger man's fatigue, Ezra added, "You are the official representative of law and order in our little hamlet. The denizens of Four Corners might feel comforted were you to return to your duties there."

JD shook his head. "We know for sure there's six of them, and for all we know they might be meeting up with more. You need me."

Larabee did not look convinced. His hazel eyes turned to Buck and Vin, silently seeking their opinion.

The tracker glanced at JD, then nodded.

Buck said, "He ain't a boy no more, Chris. He says he's up to it, believe him."

The gunslinger nodded. "Let's ride. Vin, lead the way."

The trail had gotten cold while Vin waited for the others to join him, but not so cold the tracker couldn't follow it. He led the way, and the others followed him as he followed the rustlers' hoofprints.

* * *

An hour later, Vin reined his black gelding, Peso, to a stop. He pointed to the tracks. "They split up."

Three sets of hoofprints led west. Three sets led northeast.

"Which set of the miscreants do you prefer to pursue, Mr. Larabee?"

"They split up. We'll do the same," Larabee replied to Ezra.

The gambler raised one dark eyebrow. "If we stay together, we shall have the advantage of numbers over the felonious rapscallions."

JD scoffed, "You know what Jock Steele said. We're the Magnificent Seven. We don't need to outnumber them to outdo them."

"Mr. Dunne, one of the reasons we lost the war was because of plantation owners and their sons who were convinced that gentlemen fight better than rabble,****** and the war would be over in a matter of months. However, when Grant's 'rabble' could afford to lose three or four men to every one of ours, and still keep fighting, then it became evident that quantity matters as much as quality."

"We didn't lose the war, Ezra," Buck reminded him.

Vin snorted. "Y'all didn't. We did."

"Vin and I'll go west. You three go that way." Larabee's tone brooked no argument.

Ezra touched his hat, acknowledging the gunslinger's orders. Buck and JD just nodded.

As they headed after their half of the rustling gang, JD asked, "Bet you both have some good stories to tell about the war."

"Given that I wore gray and Mr. Wilmington wore blue, it might be best to drop the subject, Mr. Dunne."

Buck nodded his agreement.

"But it'd be real interesting to hear both points of view," JD persisted.

"Better to go quietly, kid. Don't want the rustlers to hear us coming," Buck told him.

* * *

For half an hour, they followed the hoofprints. Then Buck drew his gray mare, Lady, to a halt. The tracks split into three different directions. "We're getting closer. They split up to try to lose us."

"Or perhaps they wish to outflank us," Ezra suggested pessimistically.

"Three of them, three of us," JD pointed out, his hazel eyes gleaming.

"It would be more prudent to stay together." Ezra had little hope of reining in Buck and JD's enthusiasm, but he felt obligated to make the attempt, nonetheless. "If we captured one, surely we could persuade him to tell us where his comrades are hiding."

"Why catch one when we can get all three?" Buck retorted. "Last one back to town with his prisoner buys the drinks."

"You're on," JD exclaimed.

The two urged their horses onward, JD taking the path to the right, Buck the center trail.

Shaking his head, Ezra reluctantly guided his horse to the lefthand path. "Something tells me I'm going to regret this."

* * *

**** **Steal from _Gone with the Wind?_ **Me**? As Nicodemus Legend said, it's not plagiarism, it's an homage.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezra clicked his mouth, urging his mount forward. He smiled to himself. Although he lacked Vin's expertise, he had managed to follow the rustler's trail without losing it. Perhaps he'd be able to claim that drink from Buck or JD after all. He lost his smile as he heard an ominous sound.

_Rat-a-rat-a-rattle!_

The rattlesnake struck. The horse reared. Ezra fell.

* * *

Marina Standish put her book down. Her eyes were too tired to read. She had darned and patched every bit of mending in the house. It was too dark to attempt needlepoint; the lamp didn't give enough light to see the delicate stitches properly. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes until midnight.

She sighed. Either Ezra was still out with Chris Larabee, or he'd been too tired to come home and had decided to spend the night at the saloon. Either way, she wouldn't wait up for him any longer. She headed for bed.

* * *

Marina looked up at the clock again, hunger warring with loneliness. Her husband was late for lunch, and she was debating whether or not to eat without him. On the one hand, she was hungry. For the past week or two, she was unable to eat more than a morsel at breakfast, but she more than made up for it at lunch and dinner … not to mention frequent snacks. On the other hand, she wanted to wait for Ezra. He always came home for lunch.

And with Chris Larabee commandeering his services yesterday, she hadn't seen him in twenty-four hours.

Still, she felt ravenous. Maybe just one ham sandwich …. As she began nibbling, frustration replaced hunger. For all his flaws, despite his unhappiness in their marriage, Ezra was the epitome of courtesy. He prided himself on being a gentleman. So why hadn't he had the decency to at least send a note that he'd be delayed?

Movement outside the window caught her eye. Billy Travis, a stick for a horse, was galloping down the dirt lane.

"Billy!"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Whoa." He pulled up his mount. "Sure. I mean, yes'm."

"Go down to the Queen of Diamonds. Don't go inside; your mother wouldn't like that. But knock on the door, and ask Mr. Standish whether or not he's planning to come home for lunch. I'm getting too hungry to wait for him," she confessed.

"Okay. Giddyup." The seven-year-old galloped off.

* * *

Billy stood outside the saloon's batwing doors. "Mr. Standish?"

Inez Recillos came to the door. "He is not here, _niño._ He is at home."

"No, he ain't. Isn't," the boy corrected himself automatically, remembering what his mother had said about ain't. "Just came from there. Mrs. Standish sent me to fetch him."

"_La delgada no puede llevar la cuenta de su marido******__,"_ Inez muttered. She did not think much of Marina; the feeling was mutual.

Chris Larabee rose from his table and joined Inez at the door. "What's up, Billy?"

"Mrs. Standish is hungry, and wants to know how much longer she needs to wait lunch on her mister," Billy explained.

Larabee turned to Inez. "You seen him lately?"

"Not today, no. He stay home today."

"Buck, when'd you last see Ezra?" Larabee asked, beginning to worry.

"Not since yesterday, when we split up going after those rustlers. He's probably hiding 'cause he owes me a drink." Buck smiled. "Me and JD bet him that the last one back had to buy drinks."

"So you ain't seen him since yesterday?"

"No. Probably upstairs, or at home," Buck replied.

"He's not at home; Marina's looking for him. Go check upstairs," the gunslinger ordered.

Buck started to protest, until he saw the serious expression on his friend's face. He trotted up the stairs. He came down a moment later. "He ain't up there, and his bed hasn't been slept in."

"Go check with his missus, see when she saw him last. I'll get the others." Larabee frowned. He didn't like what he was thinking.

* * *

Marina hurried to the door. She knew Ezra wouldn't knock, but her heart leapt anxiously, eagerly, nonetheless. She tried to conceal her disappointment when she saw who it was. "Hello, Buck."

He touched his hat. "How you doing, Marina? Ezra at home?"

"Still at the saloon. Would you like some lunch? Ezra hasn't deigned to leave his cards long enough to come home and eat, and it's a shame for good food to go to waste."

"Thank you, ma'am. Already ate." He tried to keep his voice casual. "Did he say when he expected to be back?"

She scowled. "The last word I had from him was a message that he probably wouldn't be home for dinner last night. Which he wasn't. I'm tempted to give Chris Larabee a piece of my mind. It's one thing if he keeps you out all night – you're a bachelor – but Ezra has a wife and home to come back to."

"Ezra was out all night?"

She nodded. "And it's not the first time Mr. Larabee's kept him out all night. Then he goes straight from pretending to be a lawman to his saloon, and I go a full twenty-four hours without catching so much as a glimpse of my own husband."

"I'll go find Ezra, shoo him on home," Buck promised, trying to conceal the worry he felt.

"You do that. And if you see Chris Larabee, warn him to stay out of my way, or I may forget to be ladylike."

"You could never do that, ma'am." Buck touched his hat again and hurried away as quickly as he could without being rude.

* * *

"Chris, we got us a problem," Buck announced as soon as he stepped into the saloon.

Raising one blond eyebrow, Larabee gestured for his friend to join him at his customary table in the back. JD and Josiah were already there.

"Marina ain't seen him since yesterday. Matter of fact, she's vexed with you keeping him out all night."

"If he's missing, why didn't she say something before?" JD asked.

"Ezra sometimes sleeps at the saloon, if it's a really late night … or if they've had a fight," Josiah acknowledged.

Larabee bit his lip. "She hasn't seen him since yesterday. And you two haven't seen him since you split up on the trail?"

JD and Buck nodded.

"Even if his horse threw him, he could've walked back by now. Something's wrong. Get Vin and Nathan," Larabee ordered.

"Should we say anything to Marina?" Josiah asked.

"Not yet." Larabee stood and put his hat on. "Let's ride."

* * *

** _La delgada no puede llevar la cuenta de su marido. _ The skinny woman can't keep track of her husband.


	3. Chapter 3

Vin pointed to the vultures circling ahead. "Bad sign."

Buck swore quietly.

Following the tracks, Vin led the group on. They found Ezra's horse lying dead on the ground.

"Where's Ezra?" JD asked worriedly.

"Over here." Vin dismounted and felt for a pulse. "Nathan, he's gonna need ya. He's alive, but he's hotter than a Franklin stove."

* * *

Buck pounded on the door.

"For heaven's sake, leave the door on its hinges." Marina opened the door. "Buck, what is it?"

"Got some bad news, ma'am."

Her face went pale. "Ezra?"

"He ain't dead. But he's hurt, hurt bad. The others are bringing him in. I rode ahead to warn you." Buck took a deep breath. "Don't blame Chris for what happened to Ezra, ma'am. It's my fault."

One eyebrow rose. "I'm going to want to hear all about it … later. Right now, tell me what I need to do to get things ready for Ezra."

* * *

Marina was pale, but calm, when she opened the door. Nathan and Vin carried Ezra in. "This way," she said, her voice carefully controlled. She led them to the bedroom. The bed cover was already pulled back.

"Let's get him settled," Nathan said. He and Vin laid the unconscious gambler on the bed. Nathan began checking his forehead. Vin pulled off his boots. "Fever ain't no worse, thank Heaven."

"How bad is he?" Marina asked.

"Won't lie to ya, Miz Standish. He's hurt mighty bad." Nathan pulled out the stethoscope he'd bought in Jericho and listened to Ezra's heart. "But I don't wanna scare ya, neither. Ezra's a fighter. He don't give up easy. He's got a good chance of pullin' through."

Marina inhaled sharply. 'Good chance' wasn't a promise of recovery.

"Don't ya fret none, ma'am." Vin laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "Ezra's too darned stubborn to die."

Marina nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Let's get him as comfortable as possible," Nathan said. "Vin, could ya help me with his clothes? Ma'am, ya might want to go to the parlor."

"He's my husband," she pointed out. She reached down and began unbuttoning his shirt. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"

"Concussion, fer sure. I'm worried about the chance of lung fever," Nathan confessed. "Near as we can tell, his horse threw him."

"You mean he's been out in the wild all night?"

"Yes'm," Vin muttered. "He – "

Vin and Nathan exchanged embarrassed glances as she reached for the belt buckle of his pants.

"Ma'am, could you heat some water for me?" Nathan asked.

"It's already hot. I'll fetch it." She quickly left the room.

As soon as she was gone, the two men quickly stripped Ezra and arranged the blankets over his naked form. She returned in a minute with a teapot full of hot water.

"Thank ya, ma'am." Nathan glanced at the bedside table. He saw a pile of bandages waiting for him. From the bits of lace on them, he suspected Rina had cut up one of her petticoats to make the bandages.

They heard a knock on the door. "Excuse me," she murmured.

Chris and Buck stood at the door. "Came to check on Ez," Chris said. Both took off their hats.

Rina stepped back so they could come in. "Nathan is tending to him." She looked up at the two men, both of whom were more than a head taller than she was. "Chris Larabee, you have some explaining to do."

"I told ya, ma'am, he ain't to blame." Buck took a deep breath. His dark blue eyes were filled with guilt. "I am."

"I'm listening." She did not invite them to sit down.

"We were chasing some rustlers. They split up, and so did we," Buck began awkwardly. He turned his hat in his hand, crushing the brim without even noticing what he was doing. "Then the group we were chasing split up again. Ezra wanted to stay together, pick one trail and follow it. I overruled him, told him that we'd do better if the three of us – him an' JD an' me – each went after a different man." He fell silent.

"And then?" Rina prompted.

"When he didn't show up this morning, I thought he was sleeping in – you know how he hates early rising – or was just hiding so he wouldn't have to pay up on our bet," Buck explained sheepishly. "Wasn't till you sent Billy to fetch him home that we realized nobody had seen him. Found him a bit ago, laying unconscious on the ground. From the way his horse's leg was all swoll up, I think she was snake-bit and threw him." The tall man took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I should've listened to Ezra, kept the three of us together."

"You're not entirely to blame." She turned to the blond gunslinger. "If you didn't keep him so late on the judge's errands so often, Chris Larabee, I wouldn't have taken it for granted when he didn't come home last night – again. I'd have sent someone out to search for him hours ago."

"You know he has responsibilities to the judge and to the town," Larabee retorted gruffly. "If you can't handle that, you should've agreed to the annulment when Judge Travis gave you the chance."

Marina took a deep breath. Larabee was right, but she had no intention of admitting that right now. "And Rocinante?"

"Dead," Buck said.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. _He thought more of that mare than he did of me. _"You'll excuse me, gentlemen, if I don't offer you a cup of coffee. I need to help Nathan nurse my husband." She turned her back on them and walked back to the bedroom.

Buck exhaled. Marina felt obligated, as Ezra's wife, to uphold the reputation of southern hospitality. They'd never stepped across her threshold without being offered something to eat. They'd never ended a visit without being escorted to the door.

Larabee touched Buck's arm lightly. "Let's go. She's got enough on her mind right now."

Buck followed him to the front door as they let themselves out. "You think Ez will be okay?"

Larabee nodded. "St. Peter would never let him through the Pearly Gates, and if he went below, Old Nick would be afraid he'd win the place in a poker game and be running it within a week."

* * *

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Ezra Standish," she muttered, wiping his fevered brow with a cool, damp cloth. "You pledged till death do us part, but we're not parting. I'm not letting go of you."

In her heart of hearts, though, she knew she couldn't hold on to him by sheer stubbornness. If his wounds were more than Nathan could heal … She took a deep breath. If the Henshaws found out Ezra had died, they'd fetch her home in a heartbeat. She could take Ezra's money and go east, get out of the territory before her stepcousins learned she was alone in the world. Maybe go back to Chicago, or even immigrate to Jamaica, if Ezra left her a wealthy enough widow.

Or she could remarry before Gram could forcibly marry her off to Carl Henshaw. Buck and JD both felt guilty about what had happened to Ezra; she could manipulate that guilt into wedlock. But JD was younger than she was, and Buck, although handsome, just wasn't the settling-down type. Mary Travis wouldn't thank her if she tried to set her cap for Chris Larabee. She wasn't sure if it would be legal to marry Nathan. That left Vin and Josiah. Vin was young and strong, good-looking, although a trip to the barber wouldn't hurt him. He was a superb marksman; he'd be an excellent protector and provider. But she'd go crazy listening to his poor grammar day after day, and she doubted he'd appreciate her nagging him about saying ain't and dropping G's. Josiah wasn't handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but he was kind, and he didn't move his lips when he read.

She dipped the cloth into the basin of water again, then wrung it out. Her decision was made. If Ezra didn't make it, she'd set her cap for Josiah Sanchez. She wiped Ezra's forehead again, and cursed Gram for teaching her to be so cold-blooded.


	4. Chapter 4

Ezra muttered incoherently. Marina spooned chicken broth into his mouth, holding the spoon in one hand and a book in the other.

"You're dribbling, Ezra." She wiped his chin with a linen napkin. "Now I've lost my place. Where was I? Oh, here we were.

" 'Marianne's preserver_, _as Margaret, with more elegance than precision, styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make his personal inquiries. He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than politeness – with a kindness which Sir John's account of him and her own gratitude prompted—'****** " Marina looked up from her book when she heard the knock on the door. "Excuse me, Ezra."

She hurried to the front door and found Vin Tanner waiting on the other side, a dead rabbit in his hand.

"Howdy, ma'am." He touched his hat. "Wondered if ya might be in the mood for rabbit stew?"

"That's very kind of you. Come in, please." She stepped back so the bounty hunter could step inside.

"How's Ezra doin'?" Vin walked to the kitchen to deposit the rabbit on her table.

"Nathan says he's doing as well as can be expected. I was just giving him a bit of broth, to help him keep his strength up."

"Ya don't mind m' sayin' so, ma'am, ya look plumb tuckered," Vin observed. "Ya want me to take over fer a bit, so's ya kin have a break?"

Rina hesitated a second, then agreed. "That's very kind of you."

Vin just smiled at her. "That's what fr'ens is fer." He nodded politely, then went to the bedroom to spoon broth down Ezra's unconscious throat.

Marina sat down in her husband's rocking chair, only intending to rest a moment before she went to the kitchen to begin simmering the rabbit. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that maybe Vin's grammar wouldn't be that hard to cope with, after all.

* * *

"Morning, Miz Standish. How's he doing today?" Nathan asked.

"He came to for a bit, but he just mumbled a little and then fell asleep again." She looked up at him, her hazel eyes filled with fear. "It's been three days. Shouldn't the fever have broken by now?"

Nathan shook his head. "Lung fever is a tricky thing. Heard of it taking weeks sometimes. Just gotta keep doin' what we're doing: try to keep him cool, give him lots of broth and willowbark tea, and pray."

* * *

Ezra moaned. Rina wiped his forehead, wondering if the moaning was a good sign or a bad sign. Sometimes he mumbled a few words, but usually just snippets of fever-dreams, nothing lucid.

"Don't you dare die on me, Ezra," she ordered. "I'm damned if I'll raise this baby by myself."

* * *

Sighing, Marina abandoned the dishes in the sink to go answer the door. "Just a minute, I'm coming."

JD stood at the doorway, his hat in his hand. "Hey, there, Missus Standish. Just came to see if Ezra was doing any better, or if there was anything I could do for you."

_You've done quite enough, Sheriff Dunne,_ she thought. After a moment, she said aloud. "No change. But Nathan is hopeful."

"Is there – is there anything I can do to help?" asked the young man. He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. He felt responsible for Ezra's predicament. He'd been the one to suggest they split up.

Rina took a deep breath. JD looked too much like a whipped puppy dog to hold a grudge. "If you wanted to read to him, the sound of your voice might comfort him." _And it would give me a chance to get caught up on my housework_, she thought.

"Will he – will he know I'm there?"

"Nathan's not sure, but he says it can't do any harm, and might do him some good. At least he'll know he's not alone," Marina said.

"Yes'm."

* * *

Nathan came by daily, usually twice a day. Josiah came by nearly as often, to pray with Rina or to sit with Ezra. All of her brothers-in-law stopped by, Vin with venison and a few kind words, JD and Buck eager to expunge their guilt by fetching firewood or doing other chores, Chris because regardless of what he'd said to Marina, he considered Ezra his responsibility, and he could no more shirk his responsibility than he could recite Hamlet's 'to be or not to be' speech in the middle of the town whilst dancing a jig. Rina wore herself to the bone, nursing her husband day and night. He'd wake for a few minutes, even speak intelligibly, if weakly, but the next time he awoke he'd have no memory of having woken before. And finally, early one morning, the fever broke.

Ezra opened his eyes. Once he managed to focus them, he realized in was in his own bed. His head hurt. He moaned slightly.

"Ezra!" His wife started to rush toward him, then caught herself. She proceeded with restrained dignity. "How are you feeling, Mr. Standish?"

"I've felt better," he confessed.

She poured him a glass of water and held it up to his lips. He sipped slowly at first, then downed half the glass. "Not too fast," she cautioned.

"I find myself possessed of a prodigious hunger. Might I impose on you to employ your culinary expertise and fetch me some breakfast?"

Rina smiled. Even recovering from his deathbed, Ezra had to indulge his sesquipedalian tendencies. "Barley broth and bread, sir. Nothing stronger until Nathan says so."

Ezra frowned. "I'd prefer a steak, or at least an omelette. However, if that's all Mr. Jackson will permit …."

She hurried to the kitchen without waiting for him to finish his sentence. She returned in a few minutes with a tray. "Do you need help sitting up?"

"I can manage." Ezra attempted to do so. After a moment, he conceded, "Perhaps your assistance would not go awry."

Rina sat the tray on the bedside table and assisted Ezra, as gently as possible, to a more upright position. Then she placed the tray in his lap. "Do you – " she started, then stopped herself in mid-sentence.

Ezra gave her a dirty look. "I am neither an invalid nor an infant, madam. You do not need to spoon-feed me."

"Sorry," she murmured. Nonetheless, she hovered, lest he need her after all.

"You may inform Mr. Jackson that I wish to see him at his earliest convenience. I refuse to be confined to a diet of gruel and broth," declared the green-eyed gambler.

"He should be stopping by this afternoon."

Something tickled the back of Ezra's brain. He struggled to catch the errant memory. Something about being spoon-fed like an infant… His face went pale as he remembered.

"Mrs. Standish, I distinctly remember hearing you swear whilst you were nursing me. Profanity is a sign of a limited vocabulary, and unbecoming to a lady."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Standish. I'm afraid that under the stress, I reverted to habits I picked up among the Henshaws. It won't happen again," she apologized.

"The Standishes have higher standards to maintain than the Henshaws."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not sure I remember the exact words, but I believe it was something to the effect of 'Don't you dare die on me. I'm damned if I'll raise this baby by myself'. Is there something you were neglecting to tell me? Do both of us need to see Mr. Jackson?"

"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure."

"But you suspect?"

Rina nodded. "I've been ill in the mornings, and I missed my monthlies. If I missed again this month, I was going to talk to Mary Travis."

"Don't wait. Speak to her now," Ezra directed. He shut his eyes. If she was correct in her suspicions – and from the little he knew of such matters, that sounded likely – an annulment was now completely impossible. A divorce would be more expensive, as he would now be obliged to pay alimony and child support. Assuming Judge Travis consented to a divorce, which was unlikely in the extreme.

He thought of his own childhood. Few of the memories were happy. Maude had boarded him with this relative and that, dropping him off with a quick kiss goodbye when his presence was inconvenient to her schemes, fetching him along at a moment's notice … leaving behind the few friends he'd made without a chance to say farewell … when he could be a useful accomplice to one of her scams. The occasional enrollments at various boarding schools when she had the money to pay tuition, leaving the school when the money ran out or she required his assistance. He wanted his offspring to have better. He had promised himself years ago that no child of his would go through that. "For better or for worse," he muttered. As much as he craved it, divorce was no longer an option.

Rina's heart sank as she heard his words_, _thinking he considered pregnancy'for worse.' She said nothing. They drifted into an awkward silence, as both remained lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

****** Jane Austen's _Sense and Sensibility, _chapter 10


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